


avoiding every mistletoe (until i know it’s true love)

by stylesthebrave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Exes to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nothing too extreme, References to Depression, Sad Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylesthebrave/pseuds/stylesthebrave
Summary: Even as the day comes to a close, Louis isn’t afraid to call the man sitting next to him on the sofa, watching snowflakes fall outside as the scent of sugar cookies fill the flat, the love of his life. Through his anger and sadness, never once did he stop loving Harry or regret loving Harry. If anything, he’s afraid of a world where he isn’t loving Harry.So, yeah, his heart is pretty content right now.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 15





	avoiding every mistletoe (until i know it’s true love)

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been three days since Christmas please don't come for me ssjskdj
> 
> But aside from that, I don't really have much to say other than make sure you read the tags before you continue, and I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> (Oh, and I know Christmas and angst don't typically mix well, but this is just what happened so that's what we're going with oops)
> 
> Title from Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande

“You’re ready for Friday night, right?”

The Irish twang of Niall Horan’s unmistakable voice rings loudly through the speakers of Louis’ phone that rests on his stomach as he lays horizontally on the sofa, both of his hands preoccupied by the console game he’s immersed in. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis mutters, squinting his eyes and gripping the controller harder as if it will give him luck. He’s proven wrong. “Wait, what?”

“I said, you’re ready for Friday, right?” Niall repeats. The eye roll is implied with his tone.

Having lost the round a few seconds ago, Louis discards the controller somewhere next to him and squints his eyes, wracking his brain for anything that he’d forgotten was coming up. He comes up blank every time and begins to panic, terrified that he’s forgotten something important. And even worse, he was supposed to be prepared for something? What had he gotten himself into this time?

“Um, no?” He says when he gives up trying to remember, dragging out the syllables in hopes that it will soften the blow of his short memory for his best mate. 

“Louis!” Niall says, obviously concerned. Louis can practically  _ see  _ his eyes bugging out of his head through the phone. “Friday’s our annual Christmas party! You’re hosting this year, remember? Please don’t tell me you forgot…”

_ The Christmas party.  _ Right. So he had forgotten something important. 

At this point, Louis has two options. He can pretend like he hasn’t spent the majority of his year covered in crisp packets and Uni work, letting the days bleed together without a care in the world, and say that he was just joking about forgetting the party. Or he can own up to the fact that he’d disregarded all of his responsibilities and hadn’t so much as purchased a Christmas tree this year. And, well, even Louis himself can admit that he’s incredibly stubborn, so he definitely isn’t about to opt for the second. 

Truthfully, it hasn’t been the greatest of years for Louis. His days are spent lying around, playing video games, and turning in his assignments at the last possible minute. Those things in and of themselves aren’t really out of the norm, but instead of spending his free time in the company of his favorite people, he mostly feels like his energy has gone towards making sure they can’t tell that he’s emotionally distanced from them. He still wants to be with them, but sometimes he feels more comfortable in the confines of his bedroom, though he’d be damned if he let anyone know any of that.

Closer to the beginning of the year, he had thought that he was just having a few bad weeks (for reasons that he will  _ not,  _ under any circumstances, be bringing up), but before he could even register how much time had passed, it had become a new sense of normal. Now it’s fucking December and he still physically feels himself draining whenever he’s pretending to be emotionally available. It’s second nature by now, but even so, he knows it isn’t healthy in the slightest.

But so what if it takes every ounce of his energy to answer the phone sometimes, and even more to actually go out to a pub or restaurant with his friends? He forces himself to, because he doesn’t want to lose his friends over something that he doesn’t even understand himself. 

He lets himself force a laugh that he’s confident is believable through the muffles of the phone. “Of course I didn’t forget, mate. How could I?”

He should feel bad, but he finds himself more concerned with making his lie convincing, something that he realizes he’s doing more often than not these days. He picks up his phone for the first time since he answered it, turning off speaker phone and pressing it to his ear with a sweaty hand.

“Fuck, mate,” Niall swears, and Louis’ heart sinks before he continues, “You scared me. I thought you really forgot. Thought maybe you didn’t love us anymore.”

Us, referring to himself and the other members of their core group of mates. It sounds elementary, for sure, but it is what it is.

And, okay, maybe those words sting a little bit. Niall clearly meant it as a joke, and Louis knows that the man never has any ill will whatsoever, but the implication that he doesn’t even love his closest friends anymore hurts nonetheless. It makes him blame himself for the things that deep down, he knows aren’t his fault, like not having the energy to remember specific dates. He’s trying, but somehow, with one simple sentence, he feels like a failure again. 

And it isn’t Niall’s fault that he’s feeling this way, is the thing. If anything, Louis thinks it’s his fault for lying, which opened the door for the comment in the first place. Yes, it’s his fault, so now he has to take it in stride and pretend like he won’t think about it every night before bed for the next week and a half. 

“I could never not love you guys,” he says, completely in truth, but managing to keep his voice light-hearted enough to hide any traces of vulnerability. It’s a talent he’s mastered by now. 

Niall makes a noise of sarcastic contentment on the other side of the line, something that Louis interprets as benign, so he allows himself to relax into the sofa cushions. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until now. 

He also hadn’t thought about the fact that he needs to somehow acquire a Christmas tree in the next three days. Shit.

“Well, if that’s all you were calling for, I actually have to, um, meet some people for dinner tonight, so I’ll catch you later,” Louis lies, and he knows it’s believable. “Be ready for Friday. It’s gonna be a night to remember. Or maybe one you won’t remember at all, depends on how much fun you have, I s’pose.” He would wink if Niall could see him.

Niall snorts loudly, and Louis retracts the phone from his ear once again, grimace evident on his face. They exchange goodbyes and Louis lets his head loll against the arm of the couch in undeserving exasperation. And so it begins. 

Fuck.

-

A bag of family sized crisps, five fleeting thoughts of coming up with an excuse to cancel, and one entire day later, Louis finally decides to make an effort toward making his flat look festive for his party in two days. It’s far too late in the day to find a Christmas tree tonight, but he decides he’ll go first thing in the morning so that he has time to get everything done (he’s now kicking himself for not thinking about the repercussions that are to come with finding a tree, putting it up, and pathetically decorating it all in one day, not to mention the snacks he’ll have to prepare and begrudgingly share with his slew of friends).

Part of him wants to waltz right into the closest store and demand that the first tree he sees be delivered to his place, but he wants to at least  _ seem  _ like he put forth an effort. So he finds himself sprawled out on the floor, on a Wednesday night, laptop open, researching fucking Christmas tree farms, something that he had actually been looking forward to liberating himself from this year. 

He rolls his eyes. And then mentally scolds himself for doing so.

-

As it turns out, “first thing in the morning” actually ends up being closer to one in the afternoon, and while it’s not unusual for Louis to have slept this late, he figures he should have come up with a clearer plan for the day. One, because he already feels like he’s behind on his one job, and two, because it’s snowing so heavily outside that he might as well live in Antarctica.

He won’t let that minor inconvenience stop him, though. Because he’s going to do this. For his friends. Because he loves his friends. Yeah. 

He’s bundled up in his warmest pair of sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, a hoodie,  _ and  _ a jacket. Throw some thick socks, a beanie, and black snow boots with that, and he looks like he’s ready to face a blizzard head on. He really does not want to do this, but he drags himself through the hallway and out the front door of his flat all the same. 

Slamming the door to his nearly ancient truck shut, Louis huffs, disgruntled at the fact that his clothes are now wet with pellets of snow. Why did he agree to this again?

Oh, his friends. Right. Because he loves them, he does. 

He drives in silence, the air around him calm, welcoming, as the engine to his truck rumbles to life (it’s a wonder it even works in this weather). He remembers a time when he couldn’t drive without the radio blasting, singing all the wrong words and throwing his free hand up like he was at some kind of concert. He did that even when there was no one with him to entertain, but now he just didn’t have the energy. He likes the quiet now.

It doesn’t take him long to get to the tree farm, maybe twenty minutes at the most, and Louis takes a moment to mentally prepare himself before stepping out into the arctic again. Honestly, he’s not sure why the tree farms don’t close for inclement weather (it’s not like it’s that hard to put up a sign that says “It’s too fucking cold, go home.”), but who is he to judge others for having Christmas spirit? 

The snow crunches under his boots as he makes his way to the booth near the entrance. There’s surprisingly no one else in sight for Christmas to be just around the corner, but then again, it’s fucking freezing outside and he’s pretty sure anyone in their right mind would have already bought their trees. Speaking of, he’s not sure how he’s going to pay for an entire tree with the little money in his bank account, but that’s a problem he’ll deal with when it becomes relevant. 

For now, he focuses on the middle-aged woman with the pristine smile plastered on her face working the stand and waving him over like there’s nothing she’d rather be doing right now. Please. 

“What can I do for you today?” she asks brightly. “Unfortunately, due to the weather, we can’t offer any of our other services, but we still have our trees for sale- we’ll help you get it in the back of your truck or you can pay to have one delivered for you- and we’re offering free hot chocolate with any purchases made!”

_ Other services?  _ Louis thinks that this woman is far too excited for her own good, especially for it to be below freezing outside. 

“That’s okay, I’m just here for the tree, thanks,” Louis smiles.

“Alrighty, darlin’, well I’ll turn you loose, so you can go get your tree,” she chirps way too happily. “When you find the perfect one, let someone know- we’ve got some helpers scattered around in there ready to cut one down for ya’- and you’ll be good to go. Oh! Don’t forget to stop back by here and pay for it and get you some free hot chocolate on your way out!” And she sends him on his not-so-merry little way with a wink and a bounce of her curly auburn hair.

So he’s off, squishing snow under his boots and shoving his hands as far in his pockets as he could get them, searching for a tree large enough to satisfy a party, but small enough to fit in his flat (and to avoid putting in that much effort to make it look presentable).

In truth, he actually isn’t having that bad of a day so far. He’s more annoyed with the unbearable weather than life altogether, so that had to count for something right? And he’s clinging onto the hope that forcing himself into the Christmas spirit will give him a happier few weeks. Or even days.

Because of course there are good weeks and bad weeks. There are times when he doesn’t have to pretend to be emotionally present, and there are times where he actually finds himself having fun during outings with his friends. (Those are the times when he wakes up with a stranger in his bed; he always thinks it will be a good distraction in the moment, but regrets it in the morning.) Sometimes he even thinks he can control his good days and his bad days, thinks that he could get better if he actually  _ tried  _ to, but he tends to ignore those thoughts for the most part. Mostly, he just clings onto the hope that more good days will come on their own.

The trees pass in his peripheral vision, Louis too caught up in an old memory of being a child in the backseat of a car, following the trees with his eyes until they’re out of sight, to realize that he hasn’t actually been paying attention to finding one for himself. So he snaps himself out of his head and takes notice of the nature around him, scrunching his nose in distaste. Everything is either too tall and skinny, too wide to fit in his flat, too scrawny and sparse, or pretty much anything he could complain about in a tree. 

By some miracle, though, it doesn’t take Louis too much longer to find a tree that he deems suitable enough (in hindsight, he really should have measured how much room he had at home, but what shouldn’t he have done at this point?) and track down a, as the station lady called them, “helper” to chop down the hunk of wood and weeds. Somehow, they even manage to get it back to the entrance. 

“Oh, good! You found one!” she sing-songs, ever so enthusiastically, and Louis offers a hopeless smile in return. “Well, let me just get you a price- Dave!” she gestures wildly to the man who had helped Louis with the tree, “Go get this settled in his truck- unless you wanted it delivered?” she raises her eyebrows.

“Uh, no. No, I’ll take it. Thanks, though,” Louis manages, digging his wallet out of one of his pockets.

The man- Dave, apparently- hoists the tree up once more and carries it effortlessly away. Louis thinks the guy would be attractive if his mood wasn’t already ruined by the gust of wind that accompanies the snow falling, but then he decides that he isn’t his type and pushes the thought away. 

He pays for the tree, the curly haired lady whose name he still doesn’t know frantic and excited all the while, before turning to check how much progress Dave has made with the tree. 

“Oh, hun, don’t forget your hot chocolate. The stand is right over there!” Her words are accompanied with a point to the stand a couple feet to the left of her own. 

Louis hadn’t planned on taking her up on the offer the first time she mentioned it, but, fuck, it was cold, and, by the looks of it, he might actually manage to make the woman  _ sad _ if he didn’t take his cuppa. So bites the bait, grits his teeth, holds his arms close to his body for warmth, and crunches snow with his boots all the way to the other stand.

Then, Louis’ whole entire life flashes before his eyes. Like, literally, he thinks he might be dying. Or already dead. Because why the fuck else would he be staring right into Harry Styles’ emerald green eyes in the middle of a fucking Christmas tree farm, about to take a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate from him?

Yeah, he’s definitely died.

Except that he hasn’t died but is, in fact, just staring at the man in front of him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, knowing that he looks like he’s lost his damn mind. He fixes his expression to one of ease. (Or what he thinks is ease. In actuality, he still looks like he’s seen a ghost and is nervously trying to make friends with it.) 

Harry speaks first. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Louis wants to run away. “Likewise.”

Cue the most awkward conversation Louis has ever had in his entire life. 

It’s not that they ended things on bad terms, actually, it’s just that they ended things and that was that. No seeing each other through a mutual friend, no awkward encounters at uni parties, no conversations whatsoever. No bad blood, but no visible connections. Which, in Louis’ opinion, really blew after giving your all to someone after two and a half years. It should at least be one way or the other.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little bitter, and maybe he hasn’t actively tried to move on since they broke up a year ago, but maybe if he ignores the problem enough, it will go away, right? (He knows it won’t.)

Harry isn’t saying anything, is what Louis notices. He also notices that Harry is most definitely  _ not _ handling the situation the same way that Louis is. If anything, the man in front of him looks amused, like it’s all some kind of funny accident. Louis does not think there is anything funny about this, and he really wishes Harry would say something to keep the conversation going so he doesn’t have to speak next again.

Instead of saying anything immediately, though, Louis watches as Harry reaches for a styrofoam cup and seemingly fills it up with warm beverage, even though he can’t fully see what he’s doing. He’s relieved when Harry finally breaks the silence.

“Want any marshmallows?”

Maybe it’s not  _ exactly  _ what Louis had been hoping for him to say, but at least there wasn’t a silence as heavy as ten elephants resting between them anymore. He would take what he could get.

“Uh.. no. I’m good, thanks,” Louis forces a tight lipped smile and takes the cup from Harry with only a slight shake in his hands. 

He doesn’t like to think about the fact that Harry was the one who made him the way that he’s been for the past year. Because while Harry was the initial cause for his decline in mental health, Louis knows that he could be better if he wanted to be. He had convinced himself that he was over Harry six months before, but he never seemed to find the energy to return to the happy, go-lucky Louis that all of his friends knew prior to the breakup. It was honestly exhausting to keep pretending, but he had to do what he had to do. After all, he was far too stubborn to admit that anything was wrong in the first place.

Usually, he tells himself that it wasn’t  _ Harry  _ who made his mental health decline so quickly, but instead, the  _ loss of Harry.  _ His time spent with his ex-boyfriend were the times when he was at his highest of highs. Harry was his everything: his love, his encouragement, his light. Without him, Louis sometimes struggled to get out of bed because there was no one to wake him up with a daily pep talk and a kiss of encouragement. Life was dull, and Louis struggled to function in a world not illuminated by Harry’s eyes. 

So, yes, he is the most stubborn person he knows, and as much as he thinks he wants to walk away, leave Harry high and dry out of bitterness, he just can’t. His heart is about to beat out of his chest, and if this is his one last chance to see Harry, he’s damn sure going to do it right. He just has to figure out what “doing it right” entails. 

If he wasn’t in public, Louis would probably fall to his knees and thank whatever divinity above for the intervention that comes next. He didn’t think he would ever be capable of being  _ grateful  _ for the overly enthusiastic, borderline annoying lady from the entrance, but right now he feels like he could hug her for making the situation less awkward. 

“Harry!” she cheers.

Half of Louis’ mind is telling him to just turn around and leave, but a greater part is telling him that it would be rude to walk away without saying goodbye after a year of no communication whatsoever. That’s the same part of him that doesn’t  _ want  _ to leave without saying goodbye, but he can’t bring himself to acknowledge that. 

“Melissa,” Harry greets with a curt nod of his head, and Louis ignores the pang he feels in his chest, sipping his hot chocolate carefully.

“Seems like you just got here,” Melissa sighs, frowning. If she wasn’t a middle aged woman, Louis would think she was flirting with Harry. Not that Louis cares who flirts with Harry. Of course he doesn’t. “But it’s time for you to go.”

“Already?” Harry charms naturally. Louis swallows heavily. “Are you sure? I can stay later if you need me to, I don’t mind.”

She shakes her head profusely. “No, no! Business is slowing down anyway, what with it being so close to Christmas and all. Be careful on the way home, Harry, I’m serious. I can’t have you getting into an accident or anything!” And then, as if she had just noticed he was standing there, turns her attention to Louis, pointing a stern finger. “You too, young man. I won’t be able to function on Christmas if I see on the news that one of you got hurt on the way home.”

Louis feels the palm that's secured around his cup start to sweat, even though he really feels like he could be frozen by this point. He feels awkward and miserable, his clothes damp with snow- it’s even managed to get in his hot chocolate already- and his lips pressed into a tight line to acknowledge Melissa’s warning.

Harry breaks the silence again. “Alright then. But you should be careful too. Call me if you need a ride home.” He flashes his signature smile. Apparently nothing much has changed since the last time they spoke.

At this point, Louis is starting to get antsy, feeling like he’s been standing there for far too long. He still doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, though, so he settles for awkwardly clearing his throat and murmuring out, “I’m gonna head home. You both have a good day.”

_ Both,  _ because no matter how much he feels like it sometimes, he isn’t a total dickhead. 

“Oh, Louis! Wait just a second!”

Louis visibly grimaces without guilt because he knows that Harry can’t see him. Harry, who is frantically shoving his phone in his pocket, calling out goodbyes to Melissa and ignoring her cries of, “Oh! You two know each other? How wonderful!” 

He prepares himself for the worst; what could Harry Styles possibly have to say to him?

Actually, he thinks, there are a lot of things that Harry could have to say to him, just as there are so many things that Louis wants to say but will never have the courage to. Sometimes he wants to yell at Harry for breaking his heart three days before Christmas (two before his birthday). Sometimes he wants to cry and ask him what on earth he did wrong. Sometimes he wants closure. And sometimes he just wants to offer him a smile and tell him to have a nice day.

Clearly whatever Harry wants, it isn’t the last one.

The man in question is catching up now, and Louis prepares himself for the worst. 

“Hey,” Harry breathes out.

Louis grips his hot chocolate tighter. “Hi.”

Harry sighs. “Okay, listen. I know we left things a little… rocky.”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “You think?” 

They’re walking now, Louis just barely guiding their path to where he’s parked. Harry doesn’t seem to mind. 

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on Harry’s face. “Sarcastic as always, I see.”

“And you’re still quite the charmer, yourself.”

It’s easier than Louis had imagined, to be honest. Small talk doesn’t feel as weird as he thought it would, but he can’t help wondering what Harry actually wants to talk about. Surely he hadn’t followed Louis all the way across the parking lot in the freezing cold just to catch up.

Harry smirks. “Yeah, well. It seems to be effective.”

Louis isn’t sure what compels him to say it, but something seems to flip a switch in his brain, and all of his plans to not bring up their relationship go flying out the window. “I would know, wouldn’t I?”

It’s quiet for a split second, and Louis is just about to apologize for making things weird when Harry barks out a short, loud, unexpected laugh that leaves both of them smiling. Louis would very obviously be lying if he said he hadn’t missed that sound.

He wants to be sad. He wants to be able to accept the fact that this is probably the last time he’ll ever talk to the man who he’d once thought was the love of his life before he goes back to his usual days of sulking and trying his best not to think about the break up, but instead he finds himself wishing that this moment would last longer. He’s spent the last year of his life sulking, and here he is, standing in front of the person whose absence made his life a living hell in the first place. 

For this one, shining moment, he’s going to push his stubbornness aside and cherish what’s standing right in front of him. 

“Okay, that was good,” Harry admits, the remains of his laugh hanging off of the words and dissolving into the air. “But seriously, I wanted to… um… talk?” He closes his eyes, shaking his head just a little bit. “It’s just, we left things so abruptly, and I don’t think either of us deserve that.”

Louis begs to differ. He thinks that if there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t deserve closure, it’s Harry Styles. It’s been almost a year (seven days away from being one year, actually) since Harry broke his heart, and  _ now  _ he wants closure? Louis wants to walk away and leave him suffering like he had been every single day.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t voice any of those thoughts. “Yeah, of course. Me too. But I’d love it if we could get some heat, I think I’m about to die of hypothermia.”

Because how can he say no to spending more time with the one who seems like he can make everything better?

-

Harry always liked to drive, Louis remembers. 

Obviously they shared the responsibility sometimes, but mostly they found themselves situated with Harry in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Louis’s thigh, who often, to Harry’s dismay, liked to kick his Vans-clad feet up on the dash and hang one hand lazily out the window. 

Now everything is different.

Louis is driving, cautious of his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel (he doesn’t want Harry to notice and think he’s nervous) while Harry bounces his leg in the passenger seat. They’ve surprisingly been able to keep up a steady conversation, eventually allowing it to shift to complaints of hunger before Louis finds himself pulling into a McDonald’s parking lot. 

There’s a good amount of snow piling up on the ground now, and Louis is grateful that Harry trusts him enough to drive in the given circumstances. Not that he had a reason not to, anyway, given the…  _ other  _ circumstances.

He pulls into a spot close to the front.

“There’s, like, no one here,” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, that’s because it’s cold as fuck outside. And snowing! Anyone in their right mind would be at home right now.”

“I guess neither of us are in our right minds then.”

Damn Harry and his ability to analyze situations even when he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Damn his ability to read Louis so easily. And damn his ability to charm Louis back under his sick little spell so quickly. 

Louis takes the tiny walk from the parking lot to the door to remind himself that this is a one time thing. This is for closure, for two grown men- who are also still uni students- to finally have a big boy conversation before they go back to pretending they don’t know of the other’s existence. Chants of  _ do not get too comfortable, do not let him in, do not think of the old times  _ course through Louis’ veins like venom over and over again. 

Too bad Louis always wore his heart on his sleeve.

Inside, the restaurant is empty, and Louis almost wonders if they’re closed. The door is unlocked, though, and he can vaguely hear the bustling of employees navigating the kitchens, so the two exchange confused glances with one another as they venture closer to the counters.

“Hey!” a woman’s voice thunders, making Louis’ shoulders jolt in surprise. He feels Harry tense beside him at her harsh tone. “What are you kids doing? Inside’s closed, drive-thru only. Don’t you two know there’s a snowstorm coming?”

_ No,  _ Louis did not know that the insufferable weather (that he’d somehow managed to not rage over ever since Harry took over his day) was supposed to continue. He supposes that’s just his luck though. He’s forced to buy a Christmas tree for a party he doesn’t even want to have, his ex who had ruined the past year of his life somehow wedges himself into the narrative, and now he’s probably going to get snowed in and not have the party anyway!

He really needs to start paying attention to the news.

Harry steps forward, Louis wondering how he always manages to look gentle, never challenging. “With all due respect, ma’am, we didn’t know the inside was closed, and the door was pretty clearly unlocked, so if we could just quickly order our food, I promise we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Louis wants to roll his eyes at Harry’s way with words, his charm, the way he’s always able to get whatever he wants by flashing a smile and batting his eyes. His beautiful eyes that dance in Louis’ best dreams and his worst nightmares. The ones he can’t be more happy to say he’s had the pleasure of gazing into late at night, early in the morning, and all the time in between.

He blinks his eyes to get rid of those thoughts. Fuck.

The lady at the counter doesn’t seem too amused, her lips pursed into a line, much unlike Melissa’s blinding smile back at the tree farm. Seriously, what is with these women and their overly aggressive emotions?

“We have a Christmas tree in the back of our truck,” Louis blurts. 

Then, as the words replay in his head, he feels like crawling in a hole and dying again.  _ Our?  _ He said  _ our.  _ As in, theirs,  _ together. Their truck.  _ Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry’s surely going to think he’s a freak now. He going to think that Louis still has the mindset of them being in a relationship and-

He can feel his cheeks heating up, and no matter how hard he wills his blush to go away, he knows there is no use. All he can do at this point is hope with every fibre of his being that Harry hadn’t noticed his slip-up and accept the fact that the floor will not open up to a black hole and swallow him whole, even with all his wishes that it would. He doesn’t even have enough time to fully process his embarrassment before the woman is booming her voice again.

“What?” she spits, clearly annoyed that they hadn’t scrambled back out the door as soon as she’d started speaking.

“What he means,” Harry quips, not unkindly, “Is that we just left a tree farm, and we’d really like to get in and out of here as quickly as possible so we can go home and decorate it. Haven’t you got any Christmas kindness in your heart?”

Harry’s words are always etched with a sense of unmistakable genuineness that Louis assumes is the reason he’s able to flatter everyone he comes across. It couldn’t be more of a contrast to Louis’ blunt, sarcastic, half-assed comments, but they always seemed to balance each other out. Even at fast food restaurants, apparently. 

So it isn’t a surprise when the woman finally sighs and steps up to the register, ready to take their orders. Harry smiles his smile, of course, and even manages to send Louis the subtlest smirk- so hidden that anyone who wasn’t completely entranced by his presence would miss it. 

And then it hits him.

Harry had done it too.  _ Home,  _ he said. He’d given the illusion that they were going back to a flat, together, because it was their home. Surely he hadn’t meant anything by it, just as Louis hadn’t meant anything by calling his truck  _ theirs,  _ but it makes him feel a little better knowing that Harry at least wasn’t bothered by his mistake. 

It doesn’t stop his hands from sweating, though.

Louis knows what Harry is going to order before the words leave his mouth. He has spent far too many days reminiscing on the far too many times that they made late night Macca’s runs to simply  _ forget  _ Harry’s go-to. 

He can practically see the scene playing out in front of him: Harry leaning the top half of his body against the car door, bright moon gleaming off of his perfect curls as he practically breaks his neck in the process of asking Louis what he wants to eat. He’d always say Louis’ order first, before calling out his signature, “And I’ll have a large fry and an iced tea, please,” almost always worded the exact same way.

So many things have changed since those days. So many things that he tries not to think about but always end up filtering into his thoughts when he can’t sleep at night.

Harry’s hair, for starters, is different. His moppy curls aren’t illuminated in the sunlight because his hair has been cut so that they’re nearly nonexistent. However, the loss of the curls is made up for by the flauntering of a beautiful jawline, so Louis definitely isn’t complaining. He’s gained more muscle, too, which Louis never thought he really cared about in a guy, but Harry seemed to make everything more attractive. 

He’s beginning to think that Harry couldn’t repulse him even if he tried, especially when, even though he doesn’t order for Louis anymore, he still gestures for him to order first. It’s almost hard to believe that someone who’s that much of a gentleman is capable of causing so much damage in someone’s life without even realizing it. 

So Louis mumbles his order to the rude woman working the register, both flustered at Harry’s kind gesture and still embarrassed by the whole “our truck” and “home” situation. He smiles and laughs only the tiniest bit when he hears that Harry’s order still hasn’t changed.

“What?” Harry asks, because the employee has disappeared back into the kitchens and they don’t have to worry about pissing her off any further. 

“Nothing.” Louis shakes his head. “You’ve been ordering the same thing for, like, four years.”

Harry smirks, raising a playfully challenging eyebrow. “Okay, Mister  _ I’m gonna try everything on the menu at least once.” _

“I was making pretty good progress!”

“You gave up the first time you tried something you didn’t like.”

Neither of them can help the laughs that they let out now, and it’s the first time that they’ve had a moment this genuine since they spotted each other half an hour earlier. Up until now, it’s all been casual conversation, maybe a joke here or there, but nothing this personal. Louis savors the moment more than he’d like to admit. 

Because to him, having a genuine moment with someone is everything. There’s no forced smiles, no wishing that he was at home under the covers, no regretting the moment as he’s spent the past year of his life doing, give or take a few cumulative weeks here and there. Those moments were all spent without Harry, and now that he’s back, if only for one day, everything feels okay again. If this is Louis’ last day on earth feeling okay, he’s sure as hell not going to waste it with depressing thoughts. 

Harry always seemed to chase his blue days away, and now he’s ridding Louis’ mind of nearly a year of them with one singular laugh. The effect he had was almost infuriating. 

“Not my fault it was disgusting and permanently scarred me from trying anything new ever again,” Louis shrugs.

“Dramatic as always.” Harry rolls his eyes, although his smile has yet to fade. 

It twinkles in the dingy ceiling tile light, just like the stars in the sky had after one of their very first dates. He doesn’t remember too much of the date, courtesy of the pub that they had spent hours in together, but he does remember somehow making it back to Harry’s parents’ (who just so happened to be out of town that weekend) house, lying in the back yard and gazing up at the stars. Louis remembers because Harry shone brighter than all of them.

“It’s true. Haven’t ordered anything new since then.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“And you have no room to talk.”

They could bicker like this for hours when they were together, not a single pause or stutter anywhere in the foreseeable future. It’s unfortunate that they can’t keep it up now (because Louis was just getting back into the flow of it, and judging by his facial expressions, Harry didn’t want to stop either), but old-faithful has returned to the counter, bag of food in hand, and Louis really isn’t trying to make her even more angry.

Of course Harry beats Louis to the task of grabbing the bag from her. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, though Louis thinks it looks more artificial than it had just moments before. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

She doesn’t offer any response in return, but Louis swears he hears a small “Merry Christmas” over the door closing behind them.

-

Getting a Christmas tree to the second story of an old apartment complex proves to be more difficult than either of them had imagined. Deciding that it would be easier for Harry to stay at Louis’ flat until they know the severity of the snow storm was an easier feat for both of them.

He should say no. He should just tell Harry, “It was nice seeing you and catching up- thanks for paying for lunch, by the way- but I’ll drop you back off at the tree farm so you can get home before the storm gets too rough. See you around!” 

But of course Louis listens to his heart instead of his head, doesn’t say any of that, and ends up with Harry Styles in his apartment securing a Christmas tree in it’s designated corner, his sofa littered with McDonald’s crumbs. There’s a gentle hum of Christmas music playing from a radio station that Harry had put on when they got there (without asking Louis, but he wasn’t complaining) as they dig through a bin of ornaments that had been packed away in a closet for eleven months, occasionally bickering about what to put where and how to make it look prettier.

“You’re not putting them on right!” Harry pouts, maneuvering his way around the tree to gently snatch the strand of lights from Louis’ hand.

“I wasn’t aware there was a right and wrong way to put lights on a tree.” Louis rolls his eyes and crosses his arms like a fed-up teenager. 

Harry purses his lips. “Course there is. You have to weave them in and out- like this.”

And so Louis watches as Harry squats down (he tries not to think about that detail too much) and expertly works the strands around the branches, ultimately doing a much better job of it than Louis ever could have, especially on his own. He puts on a solemn facade for the sake of the mock argument, but his head is running a hundred miles per minute. 

He’s thinking over the entire past year of his life, because honestly, how could he have let this happen? How could he have let the love of his life leave him on what was supposed to be the most magical time of the year, and how had he let it affect him this much, and how had he let Harry waltz back into his life after providing no closure whatsoever? How could Harry still make his heart flutter when he should be nothing but angry and cursing him out of his flat?

Because he loves him, that’s why. 

He’s sure that if the circumstances were different, it was possible for him to  _ not  _ love Harry, but he doesn’t want to not love Harry, doesn’t want to imagine a life without loving him. Louis decided that following Harry’s lead is more likely to get him to stay longer, and that’s all he really wants: for Harry to stay longer and make everything better, just like he’s done for the past few hours and did for two and a half years.

Louis knows all of this, but he still wants answers. He wants to know why Harry broke up with him, and he wants to know why Harry was so eager to speak to him today after ignoring each other for an entire year. He had said it was because they left things “rocky”, but they’re acting as though nothing happened, and it’s bothering Louis more than he’d like to admit. 

He thinks he would be okay with the way they’re acting if he didn’t know for a fact that Harry was keeping the momentum of their conversations going for the sake of procrastinating having another conversation that they both know they need to. 

In all fairness, neither of them have ever been great at communicating.

“See, doesn’t that look so much better?” Harry steps back, admiring his own work, and Louis can’t help doing the same.

“Okay, maybe you were right  _ this time _ , but don’t get used to it. You know I’m always right.”

A snort. “Drama queen.”

“Look who’s talking.” Louis doesn’t give Harry time to respond. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Tensile, duh.”

Louis groans loudly. “Do we have to?”

“Yes! What;s wrong with tensile?” Harry looks as though Louis’ just told him he committed a first degree murder.

“We just spent half an hour wrapping lights around this stupid thing, and now you want to put this stringy shit all around it?”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Yeah, that’s like the whole point. And don’t act like you were slaving away with the lights- I did most of the work while you held the other end and looked pretty.”

And  _ that.  _ Oh, that just made Louis see red. 

It wasn’t the insult that set him off- in fact, that part was actually really good, and any other time, he would use that to fuel his next shot at Harry- but the  _ compliment _ and the knowledge that Harry was openly flirting with him. Harry was flirting after everything- everything!- that Louis had just been thinking over, and that’s what finally made his brain kick his heart out of the way for a moment. He doesn’t care how many insults or fake arguments fly around, but he’s not going to just stand there and, well,  _ look pretty.  _ Not after that. He deserves answers. 

He doesn’t even have time to mentally prepare himself for the reality that his next words could ruin every good thing they have going before he’s spitting out an, “Excuse me?”

Harry, who had been bent over to dig out another strand of tensile, jerks his head up, eyes blown wide in surprise at the snappy tone. “What?”

He sounds genuinely confused, like he has no clue that he’s done anything wrong, and that only makes Louis that much more angry. How can Harry not realize how much of a shallow, low-life, dim-witted twat he sounds like right now?

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! You know damn well what I’m mad about!”

“Louis-”

“No! How dare you? How  _ dare  _ you end things between us, ignore me for an entire  _ year,  _ and then think that you can strut your too-tight skinny jeans and flirtatious comments back into my life with no explanation whatsoever! Do you know how shallow that is, Harry? I mean, do you even  _ think  _ about other people’s feelings?!”

Louis regrets letting the words out as soon as he finishes speaking and sees the look on Harry’s face. The fear is pumping through Louis’ veins as Harry just stands there, mouth agape and eyes blown wide. 

It’s a fair reaction, in all honesty, and Louis can’t really blame Harry for his initial shock, because really, what could one say back to something like that? He’s just lashed out for seemingly no reason and probably ruined any chance he had at having a good rest of the day with Harry, not to mention the fact that there’s so much snow outside that they’ll probably be stuck in Louis’ apartment together for a while. 

Harry blinks his eyes a few times and shakes his head in confusion. “I-  _ what? _ Louis, where did that even come from?”

And then the tears come. He isn’t even completely sure why he’s crying, but he figures it has something to do with the way that Harry’s looking at him exactly like he knows he’d looked at Harry on that December night a year ago. It’s an uncontainable whirlwind of anger, hurt, and fear that’s far too developed to be stopped. 

Something seems to snap in Harry then, like a light switch was flipped. His eyes spring back to life as if he’s just remembered something important, but they soften immediately. “Louis…”

Louis turns away. He hates this, hates looking so vulnerable in front of someone who has so much control over his emotions. “Sorry, I just- I didn’t mean it, I don’t know why- I’m sorry.”

He sounds pathetic, and he detests it. He’s wishing that the floor would swallow him whole for about the fourteenth time today. 

Trying to wipe the tears from his eyes as discreetly as possible, Louis takes a deep breath and turns around to see Harry’s sad eyes staring back at him. He’s so overwhelmed that for a second he thinks he’s subconsciously walking towards Harry, but then he realizes that his feet haven’t moved, and that Harry’s the one moving closer. 

He isn’t so sure how he feels about that, but he doesn’t make an effort to stop it. 

“No,” Harry says gently, “You did. You did mean it.” 

Louis wants to collapse. “No, I-”

“You did, and that’s okay. You deserved to yell at me. I deserved to be yelled at.”

He sniffles. That doesn’t make any sense. “What?”

Harry sighs, fiddling with the bit of silver tensile between his fingers. “Look, I’ve been procrastinating having this conversation, so it’s honestly good that you snapped.” He’s nervous, Louis can tell. That fact shouldn’t be calming, but it oddly is. Maybe it’s just because he’s realizing that Harry doesn’t actually have as much of his shit together as he seems to the public eye. “And I did deserve to be yelled at.”

Louis sniffs again, a lousy excuse for a laugh, but it will do for the moment. “Yeah. You did.”

Harry tilts his head, a trying smirk threatening with all its might to shine through. He manages to contain it. “Hey, now. Baby steps. We’re both stubborn hard-asses.”

And this time, Louis doesn’t have to pretend to laugh. 

None of this makes sense. Harry’s right- the two of them are the most headstrong people Louis knows- which is why it doesn’t make sense that they were so quickly able to move past the inevitable argument that was to be had with putting off a discussion for so long. They could never manage that even when they were together, both of them prolonging the smallest of arguments because they refused to let the other have the last word.

This was different for both of them. Usually, Louis’ philosophy would read that if Harry wanted to talk about something, then he would have to bring it up. (“You’re not a child, Harold,” he’d said once, “I’m not going to spoon feed you. Be a man and bring up the topic if it’s something you want to talk about!”) Today, though, he wasn’t sure what had happened. A year of pent up emotions with no outlet, he supposes.

As for Harry, it was extremely foreign for him to drop everything and sweet talk the argument to an end. Actually, now that Louis thinks about it, Harry hadn’t fought back  _ at all,  _ and that… that was weird. He seriously had no clue what the fuck was going on with them, but if he had to guess, he’d say he was about to find out. 

So here goes nothing.

“Why?” Louis whispers.

He thinks he’s seeing Harry’s heart break right in front of him. The man blinks slowly, as if he’s trying to stop tears from spilling out, and that makes Louis want to cry all over again. The only way he thinks he’ll be able to contain his emotions is by not looking at Harry, so he carefully takes some tensile from the bin and starts draping it over the branches, subconsciously hoping that he’s doing it the way Harry would.

“I’m so sorry,” is Harry’s reply, and Louis wills himself not to take his eyes off of the tree, although the waver in his voice is heart-wrenchingly tempting.

There’s so much that Louis could say, but he still isn’t sure if he wants to fall to the floor and cry or yell at Harry to get out of his flat. He doesn’t even trust himself to say anything without having another meltdown like he did a few minutes ago, so all he says is, “That’s not what I asked.”

Harry clears his throat while Louis braces himself for impact and prepares for the worst. Only now is he questioning whether he actually wants to hear the answers to the questions he’s been asking himself for so long.

“I-” Harry starts and then pauses, taking a deep breath to start again. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

There’s no way Louis can hold back from looking at him now. 

“I don’t know, Louis, and I’m so, so sorry. It- in the moment, it felt like I was doing the right thing, but I know I was wrong- now I do- and I accepted that a long time ago, but I never told you because, well, like I said, I’m stubborn. Too stubborn for my own good. All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I should call you, but I never did because I thought you were still mad at me. I thought you would cuss me out- and honestly you should have. That’s why I was so eager when you showed up at the tree farm, because I thought that this was the universe’s way of letting me speak to you in a place where you couldn’t cause a scene.”

Harry finishes with a shaky exhale, his eyes cast down to watch his fiddling fingers. His monologue was accented with dramatic pauses, stutters of exasperation, and struggles to find the right words, but Louis doesn’t care, because the hot tears on his face distract him. He’s pretty sure Harry is crying too.

He still hadn’t been given a straightforward answer, but that was the least of his concerns now. Had Harry actually just admitted that he was wrong and regretted breaking up with him? Louis didn’t know how to believe that.

He’s honestly at a loss for words, because how can he trust himself not to spill his entire inner soliloquy after Harry’s just been that vulnerable and open?”

“I am still mad at you,” Louis says quietly, still not meeting Harry’s gaze, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. 

“I know,” Harry says sadly. “You should be. And I understand if you want me to go now- I would have kicked me out a long time ago, but you always had a bigger heart than me- but before you do, I just want you to know that I’ve never been this sorry or this miserable in my entire life. I wish there was a way to take it all back, but there’s not, and there’s no words to make up for it.” He pauses. “I would do anything to prove how much I still love you, and it will never be enough.”

That’s Louis’ breaking point. He all but leaps forward, almost definitely scaring Harry, hands flying up to Harry’s jaw, lips meeting lips harshly. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know why he’s kissing Harry like his life depends on it after everything he’s caused, but he can’t help it, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to stop. This is what he’s been missing for the past year of his life, and now that he has it back in this very moment, his soul feels like it’s on fire, his whole body electrified. 

The kiss has no heat to it, no movement whatsoever, their tears mixing together as they hold each other’s faces in place. There’s so much more that they need to talk about, so much unresolved tension in the air, but in this moment, Louis can’t bring himself to worry about anything else, and he knows deep in his soul that Harry feels the same way.

Harry’s eyes are blown wide when he pulls back, eyes frantically searching over Louis’ face, though Louis doesn’t know what for. 

“I love you too,” Louis whispers.

This time, Harry kisses him. It’s as delicate as the snowflakes, unique from every other kiss Louis knows. It’s gentle rather than chaste, like he’s trying to savor a moment that he might never get again. But even so, he pulls away before Louis can fully process the fact that he’s kissing Harry again.

“We need to talk,” Harry breathes. Louis can feel his breath on his lips. 

“Yeah,” he says, “We do.”

So, like a fucking Christmas miracle, they talk. 

They very obviously avoid eye contact the entire time, opting to put the decorations on the tree instead of looking at each other, which Louis is very grateful for. It’s not the typical putting-the-Christmas-tree-up conversation, but nothing that’s happened today has been typical, so why start now? 

Harry starts. “I was overwhelmed, I think.”

Louis fiddles with the tensile in his hand. “With me?”

There’s a pause where Harry just stares at the branches in front of him. “No. Not with you. With everything, I think. Uni, work, we were always arguing all the time. I didn't think I could handle it anymore.”

“We were both stressed,” Louis says. “But we always worked through it.”

“I know,” Harry sighs. “It was the first time we were actually arguing about money, though. I don’t know why I thought we couldn’t handle it.”

A silence settles around them, Louis debating what he can- or  _ should,  _ rather- say next. Harry’s being extremely vulnerable right now, and he almost can’t believe it. It terrifies Louis to think that he’s about to open up to Harry, but he figures, even though he still doesn’t think Harry deserves it yet, that it could be helpful to share his side of the story. 

He tosses some tensile on a branch and takes a deep breath.

“I was confused,” Louis admits. “We were literally talking about moving in together, it was almost Christmas- my birthday, too- and it came out of nowhere. I couldn’t understand how you could go from wanting to live with me to not wanting to talk to me in any capacity within one argument.” He refuses to look at Harry as he steps back to admire the tree, fully decked out with LED lights and silver tensile. “How did we do?”

Harry doesn’t seem to like the idea of Louis avoiding his eyes, as he calls his name so, so delicately, like he’s afraid it’ll break if he says it any louder.

Slowly and begrudgingly, Louis turns his head to look at him. 

“Never in my life was there a moment that I didn’t want to talk to you at all,” Harry says. “I hope you know that I regretted what I said as soon as the words left my mouth, and I haven’t spent a waking hour without them replaying in my head.” Louis doesn’t say anything, mostly because he’s at a loss for words, but luckily, Harry keeps talking. “In no way do I expect you to just drop everything and take me back, but I want you to know that letting you go was the worst mistake I’ve made in my entire life. I’ve spent the past year wishing I could tell you that, and even if you don’t accept it, at least I’ll know that I tried.”

Harry’s words are so thought out, so slow and savory, like he’s been waiting a lifetime to speak them. Like he’s practiced them in the mirror at three in the morning when the world is asleep around him. Like there’s nothing more he’d rather say.

Louis wants to cry again. He’s wasted an entire year of his life dwelling over a man who broke his heart, only to find out that all of the conclusions he had come to, all of the false accusations he had cast upon himself as to why Harry didn’t want him weren’t true. Harry had just tossed every self-deprecating overthought out the window within five minutes, and Louis was really struggling to wrap his mind around that. 

Because no matter how much he had convinced himself that Harry could make everything better, the sad reality is that healing does not come overnight. It’s something that you have to work towards and dedicate time to. Today has been a good day for the most part, but that doesn’t mean that tomorrow will be, even if Harry is there to hold his hand along the way. As much as he wants to, Louis can’t trust Harry to turn all of his grey skies to blue again yet. 

And that’s okay, he decides. The conclusion that he wants Harry back in his life is not a hard one to draw, but with that comes the acceptance that this isn’t something they can just rush into like nothing ever happened. They have to build each other up and take small, small steps to get back to where they were before, and even then, that one year of depression and lows will always be hanging over their heads. That’s okay too, though, because Louis thinks life is pointless if you don’t make mistakes and learn from them.

“I can’t just let you go after this,” Louis says honestly. “But I can’t give you my everything yet, either. This year has been the worst of my life, and it might take a while to get back to even a fragment of what we used to be, but I’ll promise to try my hardest if you’ll promise to help me along the way.”

Harry looks like he’s about to fall on the floor. “Louis, the fact that you’re even considering giving me another chance is enough for me. Trust me, this year has been the worst for me too, but if there’s one thing I learned from it, it’s that me and you can work through things. We’ll get there, together, no matter how long it takes.”

They don’t kiss, even though this would be the moment in the movies where they would, mostly because they’ve only just agreed to take things slow. But they do hug, and Louis isn’t sure if he wants to melt in Harry’s arms or if he wants to savor this moment forever. Probably a little bit of both, but mostly the latter. 

Most of their time left together is spent decorating the Christmas tree in blissful silence, music still softly humming from when Harry had turned it on in the kitchen. In the end, it turns out far prettier than Louis had imagined it would be, but what feels even better than a nicely decorated Christmas tree is a heart that is content after a year of pent-up anxiety. He doesn’t think his day could have turned out any better, no matter how irritated he was when he woke up this morning.

Even as the day comes to a close, Louis isn’t afraid to call the man sitting next to him on the sofa, watching snowflakes fall outside as the scent of sugar cookies fill the flat, the love of his life. Through his anger and sadness, never once did he stop loving Harry or regret loving Harry. If anything, he’s afraid of a world where he isn’t loving Harry.

So, yeah, his heart is pretty content right now.

And if, when Niall, Zayn, and Liam show up for the party on Friday, stuffing their faces with food that Louis and Harry had cooked together, he’s interrogated on why his presumed “hated” ex-boyfriend is present in his flat… well, that’s none of their business. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know what you think, and feel free to come talk to me on tumblr via @stylesthebrave!!!


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